


The Assassination of Castiel Winchester

by nottodaydeath



Series: Vessels [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst, Bunker, Fallen Castiel, Human Castiel, I really like Claire Novak, KIND OF CHARACTER DEATH BUT KIND OF NOT IDK, M/M, Post Season 8, Vessels, and themes in there somewhere, angsty, claire novak - Freeform, i think, sorry for all da angst, there is kissing and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottodaydeath/pseuds/nottodaydeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel's vessels have human consequences and Castiel has to deal with the gap Jimmy left behind. Dean has to deal with the gap Castiel could leave behind. There will be another part covering another perspective of the story, but this works as a stand alone piece too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Assassination of Castiel Winchester

She watches them from where she lies on her stomach, unseen on the raised forest floor that is beside the quiet road. This road is barely a blimp on the map, not leading anywhere that doesn't have a more convenient route. The only logical reasons that anyone would use it would be if they happened to be lost, or if they were interested in what lay behind the small, metal door and the steps that led to it that faced the girl on the opposite side of the road. The door that was so nondescript and out of the way that it couldn't possibly hold any interest to the casual passer-by; only people who knew its purpose would attempt to venture beyond. 

For the girl, her interest lay not in what may lie behind the door, but whom.

The soft birdsong that had been her only company for the five hours she had been hidden in the trees, watching the door with catlike intent, was disturbed by the low rumble of a car engine. The girl raises herself to her feet behind the shadow of a tree, and clocks the vintage black car as it comes into view as the one she has been looking for, but she doesn't let herself feel the rush of joy until she sees him come out of the back car. He is with the two other men, both taller than she had remembered. She lets out a deep breath of relief that she hadn't known she had been holding – he, at least, is exactly as she remembers. The broad, strong shoulders, the startlingly bright blue eyes, the gummy smile as he laughed at some shared joke with the other men. 

This is it. Her months of searching have finally led her to salvation. 

As the men head towards the door, the girl realises that this moment could be her only chance. Quickly and with only the barest hint of regret, Claire Novak pulls out the gun she saved up her pocket money for months to buy and shoots Castiel square between the shoulders. 

~

Dean holds his head in his hands, listening to the steady beep of the monitor that notifies him of each new second that Cas continues to live. His hands are crusted in dried blood, and it’s trapped underneath his fingernails. Every time Dean closes his eyes he hears the sharp intake of breath that had at first sounded like the prelude to one of the full throated laughs he had learnt to prize; he sees the sudden bloom of red against the blue plaid shirt that Cas had been wearing. 

Leading the life of a Winchester, you’d think he’d have got used to watching the people he loved dying in front of him, Dean thought ruefully to himself. But you never get used to it. The fear never goes away, that sudden dark surprise that comes with the realisation that the ones you love are breakable, that the things you need can be taken with a snap of a demon’s fingers.   
Dean raised his head to look at Cas where he lay on the hospital bed. At home, Cas would usually curl when sleeping, like an animal in a burrow, pushing his hands under the pillow. Here, he lay on his back, the paper gown he wore doing little to make him look less like some kind of dead martyr in an old religious painting; he was all snow white skin, plastic red tubes coming out of his forearms and a swirl of raven black hair.

Dean knew he loved Cas, although he hadn’t ever told him out loud. There had been many times when he had almost just blurted out – whenever they fell asleep facing each other at night, the first time Cas had tentatively brushed his chapped lips against Dean’s own, when he had held Cas’s shaking body as he had sobbed for the first time in his human life. It wasn’t the fear that Cas might not love him back that scared him, because he knew somewhere deep within himself that he did. It was just this weird thing that stopped him every time he opened his mouth to say it – a twinge of disbelief. That this, like every other good thing that had happened to him, would soon also be sacrificed and lost; so Dean closed his mouth and just put on his armour for the inevitable ending. 

Strangely, that wasn’t what filled him with fear right now as he watched Cas’s chest slowly rise and fall. It was the rage and the realisation that not only would he die for Cas’s survival, but he would kill whoever he had to for it. He knew that the desperate need he felt for Cas’s love had the power to transform him into the monster he had spent his life hunting. 

~

Claire hadn’t been the same since she had been possessed by an angel and had her father stolen by one, although she pretended to be for the sake of her mother’s mental health; did normal things, wore flower hair slides, ate cereal, went to school, made friends. But at night after she brushed her teeth she prayed to Castiel to look after her Dad and fantasised that one day she would come down for breakfast, and there he’d be, grinning like nothing had changed.  
She had faith that her Dad would return to her, that Castiel would return him. When she had held Castiel inside her body, she had felt his presence. It had been overwhelming, like swallowing a star and feeling its beams expand your body from the inside until you felt like you could contain an entire world, but also good. Undeniably good.

Claire’s faith in Castiel had not wavered until she saw her father’s face on the 10:00pm news one night, grinning up at a security camera, standing in a pool of still cooling blood. 30 killed as unknown man attacks Senator’s Office. The grin that the camera had caught was like a mask, it was not at all like her father, nor like the angel did she thought she had known and understood. Something evil was using her father like a puppet, and she would not leave him alone with it.

So she searched and searched and searched, for years, and read everything ever written on angels. She prepared herself, practiced aiming with water pistols and didn’t go to college when her friends did. Claire knew that she would not be able to bargain with the dark angel – she had held him inside her, and remembered his vast power. So Claire resolved to free her father from it, even if she couldn’t save him. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back; while a hard pill to swallow, accepting that fact was gone was somehow easier than waiting in hope. At least this way it would be over. 

~ 

Castiel knows he is not recovering. His body is injured beyond pain, and although the doctors have given him two weeks at the very least, he estimates that he probably has less than 72 hours to live. He has resolved to spend as many of those hours as he can memorizing the contours of Dean Winchester’s face, and counting every freckle on his body. He has been pursuing this task for the last 20 minutes, choosing not to wake Dean where he sits sleeping at the bedside chair, taking advantage for his uncharacteristic stillness. Castiel’s fingers itch to touch him, but he worries that he will dislodge the little tubes filled with his blood that stretch from his forearm to hook up to a similar sachet hanging beside the bed.   
Besides, he is so very tired. 

Turning his face away, he looks at his reflection in his hospital room’s sole window, the reflection that doesn’t belong to him, the reflection that he had stolen. When he was an angel he thought nothing of his Vessel; serving his Father before everything was not only a belief, but a core part of the way his brain was hardwired. Although Castiel had felt the absence of Jimmy’s soul as it slipped into Purgatory with the thousands of others that had been inside his body, he had not truly comprehended the implications of that loss until now. Now that he had lived inside a human body with a human soul, he has the context with which to wonder how Jimmy had felt as a prisoner inside the body that was all he knew.   
Dean phone suddenly rang, disturbing the solemn quiet of the hospital room, and Castiel found himself instinctively closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep as Dean started awake.   
Dean’s voice, rough from sleep, grumbled quietly into the phone, “Garth, hey man. What have you got for me?” 

Castiel couldn’t make out Garth’s words on the other end of the phone, but they made Dean angry. His voice got quieter as he seemed to move into the corridor to whisper harshly down the phone. 

“No – I don’t care! What? No. Just find one for me. C’mon dude.” Garth’s voice on the other end of the phone spoke again, and Dean sighed – Castiel could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.   
“Fine. Thanks for that much, I guess. Yeah. Bye.” 

Castiel opened his eyes to look at Dean where he leaned against the open doorway – indeed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. When he looked and saw Castiel looking at him however, his entire face softened and changed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he said to him softly, reaching for his hand as he came towards him and sat down once more. “How’re you feelin’?

It took a few tries before Castiel managed to croak words out of his throat, and it alarmed him how much work it took.  
“Like shit.”

Dean laughed at that. “Yeah, well. Getting shot does that to you, I guess.”

Castiel nodded, his head feeling strangely heavy whilst he did so. He then just looked at Dean, noticing the strain on his face, and how tired his green eyes looked as they flickered over his body, obviously evaluating his health.

“Dean,” Castiel started, lacing his fingers through Dean’s, the red tube twisting slightly as he did so. “I just want you to know that you taught me more about being human than all my years as an angel watching the world. Thank you.” 

Dean’s face twisted with anger. “What the hell? Don’t talk like that. I am not letting you die, Cas. No fuckin’ way.” 

Castiel sighed, having expected Dean’s response. “It’s okay. Really, I am okay about this,” he murmured, ignoring the pain he felt in his chest as he lifted his hand to Dean’s face.  
Dean looked angry – betrayed even but Castiel’s calmness – and jerked away from him, shaking his head. “How can you be okay about this, Cas? Nothing about this is okay!” He stood up then, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, not looking at Cas. “I gotta go make some calls. I’ll be back. Get some rest.” 

“Okay,” Castiel murmured, too quietly for Dean to hear as he stalked out of the room. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, before turning and looking out the window into the evening sky. After all he had done, all he had destroyed in his desperate bid for a perfect world – Jimmy only being the tip of a very large, blood drenched ice berg – an honest human death should be – was- an honour. 

Claire Novak had deserved her vengeance, and he deserved to die. 

But despite this logic, a part of him selfishly longed to cling to his small, pathetic, life; the same part of him that longed for the warmth of Dean’s hand again entwined with his and that would turn into a killer at the sign of a threat to the Winchesters.  
Perhaps this was proof that Castiel Winchester had truly become human. 

~

Castiel dreams that night of dying. He dreads his return to Heaven, and irrationally hopes that his death may just be a form of sleep and nothing lies after. In his dream, he floats down a river on a piece of driftwood. The water is cool to the touch and the river barely makes a sound; an eerie blue mist rises from the water and blocks out the sky and whatever else surrounds him. It reminds him of a cartoon Grecian Underworld that he saw once on TV. 

He closes his eyes and is content to let the river carry him until he hears a voice in the distance.

“Cas,” Dean shouts, unseen and clearly in danger. “Cas, come back! Help me!”   
Dream Castiel does not waste a moment, but rolls from his driftwood and into the water; which, in the way of dream logic, has now turned into a fast flowing, heavy current that fights against him. 

“Cas, Cas!” He hears dream Dean shout, before his words give way to a blood curdling scream.   
I’m coming, Dean, he tries to shout back, but the current is too strong and water fills his mouth as he opens it to call back to him. Helplessly, his body heavy, he sinks like a stone; the river slowly turns red with what he knows is Dean’s blood.

Castiel wakes up, covered in sweat and retching in his hospital bed. As the retching stops, he realises with surprise and dismay that Dean is no longer sitting in the chair.  
A few hours - or possibly days, it’s getting harder to tell – later, Dean gingerly shakes Castiel awake. 

“C’mon, we gotta go,” he whispers, hooking one arm under Castiel’s knees and the other around his shoulders. He lifts and carries him, bridal style, to a waiting wheelchair. 

“Dean?” Castiel slurs groggily, his head lolling on Dean’s shoulder. “What’re you doing?” 

“I’m bustin’ you out,” Dean mutters, depositing Castiel gently in the wheelchair. “Just sit tight and tell me if you start hurtin’, okay buddy?”

Castiel murmured/s his assent, still drowsy from the pain medication the nurse had given him, as Dean wheeled him down the corridor and to the waiting elevator.   
When they reached the bottom floor, rather than taking a usual route out of the hospital Dean wheeled him through a back exit where Sam was waiting with the Impala. Dean lifted Castiel again to put him in the backseat, leaning over him to put his seatbelt on. 

Castiel scowled at him. “I know how to operate a seat belt, Dean.” 

“Yeah, well, not that stoned on pain meds you don’t. Sam, sit with him in the back seat, would ya?” Dean lowered his voice, presumably so Castiel wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Don’t let him go to sleep."

“I can hear you!” Castiel snapped at Dean as Sam apologetically slid into the back seat with him.

“Alright, princess, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Dean muttered as he turned on the ignition and the Impala roared to life before taking off into the night. 

Castiel, after 10 minutes of driving, slowly felt the relaxing side effects of the medication wear off somewhat. 

“Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Dean replied cheerfully.

“Dean,” Castiel rumbled, narrowing his eyes. “Where are we going?”   
In response, Dean turned on the car stereo. 

Castiel turned to Sam and widened his eyes.  
“Sam,” he began softly. “I have been shot. I am in pain. I am confused. Please inform me where we are going.” 

Dean subtly shook his head at Sam in the rear-view mirror.   
“Uh,” Sam began. “Uh, I’m not sure, Cas. But why don’t we play a car game to pass the time?”

Castiel glared out the window and crossed his arms, resolving to remain silent in protest. He did not miss Dean rolling his eyes at him in the front seat. 

~ 

“Why are we beside a river?” Castiel asked an hour later, finally breaking his silence. 

“You’ll see,” Dean said, as he half carried Cas out of the car to sit under a tree. Sam came over with a large, patchwork blanket to drape around him and handed him a bottle of water.   
Castiel glowered at Dean and Sam as they turned away from Castiel to murmur things that he could not make out to each other, unable to get up to move closer to hear what they were saying. The less enhanced capabilities of humans were a constant annoyance to him. Sam gets mad After their brief exchange of words, Sam tramped off into the trees and Dean made a beeline for Castiel, crouching beside him.

“Hey, so, I know you’re mad about all this but I didn’t have time to discuss it, alright?” Dean’s words came out fast, as if he was afraid Castiel was going to get angry with him. “You weren’t gonna fight and I’m not lettin’ you die on me, so I got outside help.”

Sam then returned through the clearing, trailing behind him a diminutive middle aged woman in a creased pant suit. The woman approached Castiel, smiling, joining Dean to crouch beside Castiel. As she reached out her hand and lightly touched him on the forehead, Castiel felt a sudden heat thrum throughout his entire body, as if she had somehow made his bones glow for one, brilliant instant. 

“Suriel,” he breathed. 

Her gentle smile stretched and he now saw a flash of something in her eyes; of brilliance, of power, of grace. For a moment, Castiel felt a tell-tale tug of familiar longing for what he had lost, before suspicion and confusion took over.   
“What is going on? Why is she here?”

Dean’s eyes darted around Castiel’s face as he answered. “Why do you think she’s here? She’s going to heal you.” 

Suriel cut in mildly, "my preferred pronoun is actually 'he'-"

Castiel ignored her. “The bullets Claire used prevent an angel from using their powers to heal the wound. The only way Suriel could possibly hope to save my life would be to give me the majority of her grace, before going into hibernation to regrow the rest of it, which would take a decade at least, if not more. The only possible way she would agree to this would be in exchange for something very valuable, and doubtless you want to make some ridiculous bargain with her that will endanger your life.” Castiel took in a breath before continuing, “and my answer is no, Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes bore into his, steely, before he glanced round at Sam and Suriel, “give us a minute, would ya?”   
Sam nodded and he and Suriel melted once more into the trees where they had come from. 

Dean turned to Cas and the two of them just looked at each other for a long moment; drinking each other in, sharing the same air.   
Dean’s mask fell away, and his face became one of pain and – Castiel was surprised to see - desperate need, the same need a starved man felt for freshwater. 

“Cas,” he said, his voice raw, “I know that you don’t think you are worth saving. Okay? I know that some part of you still believes you deserve this. And that’s bullshit, okay? That is the biggest, steaming pile of crap I ever heard.”   
Castiel numbly felt Dean put his rough, callused hands either side of his face. 

“I love you. Do you hear me, you fuckin’ idiot? I love you more than I love anything except Sam. And if you’re gonna do this? If you’re really gonna to go through with this stupid sacrifice? Then you gotta realise, man, that you’ll kill me too. I can’t lose any more people. I just – I can’t.”   
Dean’s hands on his face shook lightly. 

“So if you won’t save your sorry life for yourself then please, for the love of God, do it for me.”   
Castiel blinked and felt hot tears run down his face. Dean moved his hand to thumb them away, and Castiel leaned into the touch. He reached up his hand and covered Dean’s hand with his own. 

“So?” Dean asked him. “What’s it gonna be?”

~

15 minutes later, Dean stood in the clearing, surrounded by three unconscious bodies; Sam, Cas and the Archangel Suriel. Or her – his – vessel at least. Dean was never really clear on how this was going to work. 

He went to the Impala, brought back a shovel and began to dig a 9 foot hole in the ground. It would have been difficult for many men, but Dean had dug more than his fair share of graves in his time and it took him just under three hours. 

By the time he loaded up the car and drove back home, the sun was just starting to rise; chasing a way the stars, the sky was painted a distant amber.   
Around midday, a bleary eyed Castiel stumbled out of bed into the kitchen to procure some coffee. Dean looked up from the newspaper he had been glancing over for the last hour. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he smirked. “You want some breakfast?”   
Castiel squinted in the light. “Coffee. Lots of coffee.”   
“Coming right up,” Dean replied moving towards the coffee machine before moving impulsively and suddenly. Castiel blinked as Dean caught him up in his arms, kissing him deeply, before relaxing into it, opening his mouth. As Dean wound his arms around him, and Castiel reached one hand to curl into Dean’s hair, and for a moment they simply held each other and breathed into their hold. 

Castiel pulled back, confused, but pink with pleasure from the kiss. “What – what was that for?” 

“I’m just really happy to see you,” Dean breathed. 

“Are sure you’re feeling alright” Although Castiel was smiling, his eyebrows were knitted together in worry. 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, still holding Castiel. “I’m just fine.”

When they were disturbed 10 minutes later by Sam’s “Urgh, guys, please! In the kitchen? Seriously?”, Dean just gave him the finger and continued to kiss Castiel where he sat on the work top, his legs wound around Dean’s waist. 

~

10 years later, Dean got up in the middle of the night and kissed Castiel softly on the head before tiptoeing out of their shared room. Over the years they had their disagreements – Castiel had left to wander the world for 2 years, Dean had neglected him occasionally when he got wrapped up in himself and Castiel had always found it difficult to be human in a way Dean could never fully understand – and he was glad that today, of all days, they were happy and in love and together. Their arguments had been equally as explosive as their love for each other, but he had hoped that it would end this way.

As the he got in the Impala and drove away for the last time, he thought of Sam. The last time he had seen him was yesterday, when he was training up some of the new Men – and women, as Charlie was so oft to correct him – of Letters. He knew Sammy would be okay, and he just hoped he would understand. At least, with a baby on the way, he knew that Sam wouldn’t be alone. 

Turning to the stereo, he turned on some Zeppelin to accompany him on his last journey, driving into the sunrise one last time.

When he arrived at the forest, Dean Winchester dug up Suriel’s body, which had remained intact. “Angel mojo,” he muttered. 

Suriel opened his glowing eyes and took Dean Winchester for his new vessel. The Impala remained in that forest for the next 15 years, an object of curiosity and fascination and the last thing left of the man who had built it.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that was a Kill Bill reference :). The title is also a film reference. Sorry that this is a bit blah, but I hope you enjoyed it and I was sick of it just sitting around not doing anything in my documents folder.


End file.
